Capture the Flag
by Nuele
Summary: A battle between two trios in a deadly capture the flag battle.


"Cliff!" the female voice screamed in the driver's ear.  
The man in control of the heavy vehicle attempted to veer, but he was too late.  
"Aw, crap!" he yelled into his headset.  
Their massive-wheeled, heavy iron, all terrain vehicle spun sideways over the sheer ledge. The gunner in back fired fruitlessly at a few standing alien beings behind them as they dropped away from ground. Luckily, their fall was a short one. The transport landed hard on two side wheels, jolted, and determinedly kept on driving. Cheers erupted from the passengers. The driver merely grinned.  
"Um, sir-" the gunner began.  
"Whoops-" he was too late.  
The front of the car smashed into a rock, bucking and heaving the gunner from his spot. The passenger laughed while the gunner complained angrily, nothing hurt but his pride.  
"Your flag has been captured," a serious voice warned them all from inside their headsets.  
"Crud." The dissent rang from all three of them at once. The gunner bounded once again into his spot behind the huge mounted Gatling gun.  
"Ready to roll, chief," he called to the driver.  
The engine revved back to life as the vehicle took off again, tearing dirt off the ground and hurling it all in its wake. The driver maneuvered skillfully along the plane as the passenger and gunner struggled to keep their crosshairs in position, aiming across the terrain. Off in the distance, a lone figure in white battle armor was spotted. The passenger grinned.  
"Poor baby. You lonely?" she mocked.  
The straggler merely laughed into her headset. As they approached, it became obvious he bore no weapon. Instead, he was holding a pole topped by a large black flag, billowing in the wind.  
"There's our flag, boys," the girl laughed. "Ripe for the picking!"  
Her comrades merely smiled reply. The vehicle roared towards the enemy and came closer into view.  
"Open fire!" the driver barked.  
Shells flew from the Gatling gun's barrel as bullets erupted from the muzzle. Beams of plasma spewed from the passenger's foreign-looking gun and splashed across the terrain. The flag bearer leapt into the air, skillfully dodging the shots. The passenger paused to reload another clip of crystal- like ammunition while the gunner still poured bullets all over the ground, his barrel rotating furiously. The driver merely grunted in anger. As the passenger began to empty her second round, he whipped the vehicle around 180 degrees. As the tail end whipped out, it caught the flag bearer beneath its frame and dragged him under the wheels. He grunted as his combat armor collapsed around him.  
"Your flag has been recovered," the bodiless voice reported. The occupants of the vehicle whooped a victory yell. "Play time!" another voice called over the communicator. "The perfect setup," another said wickedly. "Contact!" the passenger yelled. "Ohh..." the driver groaned. Out of the hills from either side, two aircraft emerged. Both were identical; exotic, sleek, gliding through the air, but also fear inducing, like some proud hawk. The two crafts sighted their targets and began to swoop down upon them, almost raptor-like. In perfect unison, they reached a range close enough to open fire. This was also done in synchronization. Plasma beams raked out from belly-mounted guns, just barely missing their target. As they came in closer, the gunner again fired his now overheated weapon, following the ship as it came in and arced out again, driving a steep bank back upwards. The passenger's plasma weapon merely shot all over the sky, not even coming close to their target. Grumbling, she swapped weapons, stowing the alien weapon under the seat and protruding a massive rocket-launching weapon. Grinning, she loaded a missile into the slot, clamped the latch shut, and tapped the side of the muzzle, where it spun into place. "You get one more try to take 'em out," the driver warned. The aircrafts spun around in a brilliant spectacle of aerial maneuvering, twining around each other and then breaking off to run another attack. Beams issued from the guns again. Mechanisms in the combat armor of the gunner and driver beeped as they took a small amount of fire. "Hit," the driver reported. "Me too." A thunderous blast sounded next to the driver in response. The passenger had fired the rocket launcher after taking speed and movement into careful consideration when aiming. The rocket sped along, tearing through air and leaving searing heat waves behind it. The driver of the aircraft attempted to pull up, but too late. The rocket exploded against the thick metal hull, sending shrapnel throughout the air. A fiery cloud resulting from the explosion engulfed the craft. When it flew out, heavy amounts of damage were visible, and the machine drooped away from the symmetry of its counterpart. It visibly sagged, rapidly falling from the air. It exploded before it ever hit the ground. Cheers erupted from the ground vehicle again. They were cut short, however; the second craft was diving in from the other side. Its gun was now glowing with a strange green light. The green light was released as a massive ball of energy, slamming into the back of the car. The gunner was again thrown from his position, this time with a surprised shout. His body smashed against the ground hard and rolled a distance.  
The visors of the two remaining teammates lit up with the words, 'Sam- Feichter has been killed.'  
The driver hit the acceleration hard, gunning the engine and retreating as quickly as possible. The last pilot laughed gleefully. He descended in just behind the vehicle, blasting plasma at their heels. The passenger turned in her seat and heaved an object at the trailing mechanism. The pilot's eyes shot open. The small, circular object clung tenaciously to the wing of the alien fighter. About three seconds later it exploded.  
"Eat grenade!" the passenger yelled fierily.  
The damaged wing rocked, causing the plane to pitch. It staggered for a moment, and then regained its course. The passenger spat and pulled the scope on her rocket launcher to eye level. When she pulled the trigger, the device merely clicked as the barrel spun.  
"Ah, great."  
She lobbed another grenade, this one missing.  
"I'm all outta ammo," she sighed to the driver. "You just have to lose him."  
The driver merely gripped the plastic tighter with his sweaty hands, heading for a nearby structure. It was significantly lower than their current level. He swerved toward a man made ramp, launching the car off it. The vehicle wildly spun out of control, hanging in the air for a moment, before touching down facing in the opposite direction. He turned hard, banking on two wheels. The car screamed with every degree of power it had, but the flying vehicle closed in fast. The undamaged wing scraped over the frame and clipped the passenger in the back of the head. She violently lurched out of her seat, rolling over the windshield, over the hood, and in front of the car. It bounced up with a thump as the tires dragged over her corpse.  
The words, 'Prncs-Anatroc has been killed' appeared on the drivers visor.  
His face was set in grim determination as he sped towards the building.  
"GO! GO!" the voices of his fallen teammates yelled in his ear. He pushed the machine hard, forehead sweating. The aircraft shot a few last rays at him as he charged into the open doorframe. He yelled triumphantly. He yelled too soon.  
The door opened to a long narrow hall, which immediately dropped into a steep curve. He rocketed over the edge. He slammed the deceleration hard, but it was too late. The jeep was already tumbling back-to-front through the air, with him still inside. The spinning slowed, and he pulled the controls hard, attempting to level out.  
"Oh, come on, baby, level... Level..."  
The ground quickly rushed up.  
"Steady..."  
Quicker.  
"I can do this!"  
The very front of the car slammed into the ground, so it landed vertically. The driver's heart skipped a beat and he gasped. It tottered for a moment, then leaned over and landed upside-down, crushing the driver beneath its immense weight.  
'BATTLE-MONK has committed suicide.'  
"Argh! No!"  
The voice came again. "You have lost the enemy flag." A pause, then: "You have failed to achieve victory."  
He stared at the glowing television in disbelief. Laughter resounded in his earpieces. The "driver" stood up and growled, tearing his headset off and tossing it at the humming video game console. He threw the controller to the ground and stormed off into the kitchen. 


End file.
